


That's Because You're an Idiot (revised)

by CaptainDog



Category: Princess Bride (1987), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Romance, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:04:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainDog/pseuds/CaptainDog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sort of fusion, now revised to fit in with The Reichenbach Fall.  Spoilers for that episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's Because You're an Idiot (revised)

After the fall, John swore that he would never love again. Not that it had gone anywhere with Sherlock; John had been too sure of Sherlock's disinterest to actually tell him about those feelings he'd been harbouring. But John felt that colour had drained from the world after Sherlock had fallen. After losing the best and wisest man he'd ever known, John just couldn't _feel_ the way he used to. His fiancee was pretty and sensible and everything that he would have loved before meeting Sherlock Holmes. He'd been open with her from the start. She knew that he didn't, _couldn't_ love her. Sometimes he resented her, but mostly he was grateful. Long, ponderous walks were his escape. He could get far from Mary, far from everyone he knew, but he always ended up near Baker Street. It was as if Sherlock's magnetic field was still there. Sometimes Mrs. Hudson would notice him standing outside and invite him in for a cup of tea. Sometimes he took her up on it. Others, he just couldn't.

After three years, John just didn't care. He didn't care when, on his routine walk, a small Italian tourist looking for directions shouted to his friend, who promptly knocked John out cold with a hard blow. He awoke handcuffed to a pipe in what seemed to be an abandoned toilet. He heard a scuffle outside, a shout, and a few thumps. A strange man entered. He wore a mask and had a shaggy mess of orangish hair.

“Got you.” the man said. “Stupid sods, kidnapping my prey.”

“Your prey?” John had a throbbing headache. There was a smile in the man's voice, though his mouth was obscured.

“Been after you for some time, Doctor Watson.” The man bent and deftly picked the lock on the handcuffs. John strained to see his face behind the mask, but he couldn't get the right angle. The man pulled him to his feet and John felt the jab of a gun in his side.

“Don't get any funny ideas.”

He lead him out into a warehouse. Abandoned industrial facility. Mostly empty. John felt numb. He wished that he would just get on with it and kill him. In the past, this situation might have excited him, made him feel alive. The knowledge that he couldn't share it with anyone...he didn't continue that line of thought.

There was a single wooden chair off to the side. The man pushed him into it, keeping the gun trained on John's head.

“Who are you?”

“I am no-one to be trifled with.” John's mind searched. He didn't really have a hope of escape himself, but maybe if Mary could get a hold of Lestrade...

“Your precious Mary won't realise you're gone for a while. Your true love can't save you.”

John was a little taken aback.

“Who said she was my true love? But she will phone the Yard. That I know.”

“You admit that you don't love your fiancee?”

“She knows I don't.”

“Are not capable of love, you mean.”

Anger coiled in John's gut, the first true feeling he had had since waking up. Before then, even. He seized the emotion and shouted before he realised that words were forming in his throat.

“I have loved more deeply than a coward like you can even imagine.”

The man raised a hand as if to hit him.

“That was a warning. Speak to me like that again, and my hand flies.”

“I know who you are. Mycroft warned me about you. You've been after me? Sebastian Moran, admit it.”

“With pride. What can I do for you?” He gave a little bow.

“Die slowly, cut into a thousand pieces.”

“Tut tut! What did I say about talking back? Why so hostile?”

“You helped kill my...friend.” John had almost said 'love.'

“It's possible. I kill a lot of people. Who was this friend of yours? Probably a pretty little girl, like your Mary. Did you get to shag her before the end?”

“No. A man. Brilliant. Brilliant and perfect.” John wasn't proud of the airy quality his speech had taken. He collected himself, banishing the image of Sherlock's icy eyes that had overtaken his memory. “Your boss confronted him. They...they both fell.”

“Ah, I think I remember this friend of yours.”

“Of course you do, it's not like you'd forget. How could anyone?”

“This would be, what, three years ago?”

John nodded, eyes downcast.

“Does it bother you to hear?” There might have been sympathy in Moran's voice, but John couldn't tell.

“Nothing you can say will upset me.”

“I was there. I was supposed to shoot you, and I was listening in on their conversation. He held himself well, that should please you. No bribe attempts or blubbering.” John snorted. The very _idea_ of Sherlock doing such a thing. 

“Well of course you knew that. But do you know what he said to Jim and I before the end?” John froze. Last confessions? Did he want to hear them?

“He said 'Please. Please, I need to live.' I remember it quite clearly. Jim asked him what was so important. 'A caring lark' he said. And then he started to describe a man of surpassing integrity and faithfulness. I can only assume he meant you. You should be glad we helped him end his misery, before he found out what you really are.”

John was genuinely surprised at that. “What am I?”

“Faithfulness, doctor, your enduring faithfulness. Tell me truly, when you saw him fall, did you get engaged to Mary the moment you moved out of Baker Street, or did you wait a week out of respect for the dead?” There was an edge of anger to Moran's voice, but John didn't notice. He was so full of pain and anger that he quite forgot the gun in Moran's hand.

“You mock me. I've killed better men than you for that. I died that day!” John stood up, lightning fast. He knocked the gun from Moran's grip in his moment of surprise.

“You can die too for all I care!” John lurched forward and landed a hard blow to the side of the other man's head. His mask loosened as he stumbled backwards.

“You say that,” He dodged another punch and fell backwards. “because you're an idiot.”

That voice.    
_That voice!_   
The mask fell of entirely, along with the hideous orange wig. 

“Oh my...oh my god, _Sherlock!_ ” John crumpled. He no longer knew how to work his body. Sherlock Holmes straightened up and hurried to him. He held John's cheeks in his hands.

“Are you all right? Can you move at all?” John raised his eyes and they met Sherlock's for the first time in three years.

“M-move? You're alive. If you want I can fly.”

Sherlock grinned. “I missed your illogical little mannerisms.” John wasn't sure if he should hit him.

“Why didn't you wait for me?”

“Well...you were dead...” Sherlock snorted.

“You thought Moriarty and some pavement could stop me? All that could do was delay us for a little while.”

John grinned. Damn him.

“Well, I won't doubt you again.”

“There will never be a need.”

John felt the strong need to kiss that self-satisfied smirk right off of Sherlock's face.

Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that have been rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one did not even make the top 100, but John and Sherlock did not care a whit.


End file.
